Turn the key and me free, back into your hands
forever.
They call me Temet. It's latin for know "know.
It's interesting the time I've spent here. As a collective, I'll
resort to calling this community 'you'.
You say in private whisperings that friendship is either to risky or
either to boring of a thing.
But loudly you cry out in pain as you bemoan your lonely existence.
You either lie to protect yourself, or lie to protect your image. Very
normal
for newly pubescent and otherwise the malediction of a generally
confused
generation.

You don't want comradery, you want
TRAGEDY

We enter through your regrets.
We seek your sorrows.
in that secret place the reason for you fall.
Poloroid of a life, normally conducted.
Of ordinary heights of aspriations.
But in that secret place you lie to your God.
In that secret place, I arrive to take you back.
Back among us, those in perdition, those cast out

Sleep is for those who's lives have been forfeited.
Either by knife or some mundane machination of rebirth.
So then instead of fretting, move through it, lest you enjoy
a comfortable made of burning sulfur in a sleeper's hell.

Ask temet:

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